Demur
by poisonivy231
Summary: In a dystopian society, homosexuals are forced to marry at 18 to stop them from "preying on heterosexuals". But what are the laws for bisexuals, and how will the girls navigate their way through this world when they don't understand their own feelings?


_Author's Note: This is part of a series which primarily focuses on Klaine. You can find that on my profile, titled Under Oath. You don't have to read that to read this, but it will probably improve your overall understanding a great deal._

_Some things to note about the world (if you don't want to read the other parts): Homosexuals are paired with another homosexual, generally one who lives near them, through an interview process when they are eighteen. There are established gender roles in the relationship, husband or wife. The marriage must be consummated within 24 hours._

_That should be enough to help you through, but if you have any questions, just ask me. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Demur_

Sometimes, Brittany thought the world had off days. Everything had a tinge of greyscale to it; was a little bit quieter, a little bit lonelier. It had its technicolor days; bright, rainbow days, like when they served jell-o in the cafeteria, or when Santana linked their pinkies together between every period. Lately, the off days had been coming more frequently. Artie had called her 'stupid'; Santana had turned up at her house crying and Brittany had kissed her to make her feel better, then Santana had ignored her for three days in a row.

She knew they weren't just for her. The world gave them to everyone – Santana had been crying for a reason, hadn't she? And more and more, Brittany knew one person who was on a constantly cloudy forecast. Kurt was quieter these days and he looked at the floor when he walked. Something about him was broken and defeated and Brittany wished she knew what to do to make him have rainbow days again.

She gave him the cupcake she'd made in Home Ec, which he had taken with a kiss to her cheek and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She'd made him a card – _Colours make the grey days brighter_ with a unicorn riding a rainbow on the front. In glee rehearsal the day after, Kurt had spun around to show her his vibrant outfit, a bright grin on his face. That had been a rainbow day for him, Brittany thought.

As the weeks went on, Kurt's smile dampened. On his birthday, she'd brought him a cake and another card, and he had barely managed to tilt his lips up. That had made Brittany's heart ache, because birthdays were happy days. They were sunshine, rainbow, fireworks, unicorn days, and Kurt seemed greyer than ever.

When Brittany finally asked him what was wrong, she didn't really understand his reply. She wanted to ask, but there were tears in Kurt's eyes, so she just hugged him, and promised him things she wished on a star would come true, because that was all she could give.

~o~

Brittany propped herself up on her elbows, kicking her feet and watching Santana reapply her eyeliner in front of the mirror. "Kurt's worried about getting married."

Santana let her wrist go lax, the liner dropping from her eye, and raised one eyebrow at Brittany in the glass. "And?"

"He said he doesn't have any choice. But I thought marriage was what you did when you loved someone, so why would he say that?"

Santana shrugged. "People marry for money. That's the only way I'm getting tied down – if I find some drug baron or oil guy or a prince. But for Kurt…" She lowered her hand, dropping the eyeliner into the make-up basket. She dragged a nail across the painted wood of the table. "For Kurt it's different."

"Because he's, like, super gay?"

"Because he's gay at all." She straightened up and started to fuss with her hair. "They don't let fags marry whoever they want. There are rules."

Brittany looked away from her, staring at Lord Tubbington's empty, hair-coated basket. "I don't think you should say things like that, Santana."

"What? It's true. They have to marry who the big guys choose for them."

"No." She nodded to herself and turned back to her. Santana caught sight of her hard expression in the mirror and paused. "I don't think you should call him what you did. It's like when people call me 'stupid' or 'retarded'. It hurts and I… I don't want to spend time with you if you're going to be that kind of person."

Santana opened her mouth, closed it again, and then smiled brightly. "Sorry." She turned back to Brittany and sat next to her on the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke her knuckles. "You're right. But you do want to spend time with me, because how else would we get to do this?" She leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. When Brittany didn't respond, she sat back. "Come on, Britt-Britt, don't be mad at me."

"This is really confusing, Santana."

"What is? We're friends who kiss because it feels good. That's, like, the least confusing thing in the world."

"But…" Brittany huffed in frustration. "So Kurt likes other guys, which means he has to marry who he's told to, right?" Santana nodded. "So," Brittany continued, "if we're doing this, does that mean we'll have to get married?"

Santana froze, staring down at her. "What? Britt, we're not dy-… We're not gay."

"But aren't we? We're girls who like kissing other girls."

"No, we're girls who like kissing each other. Different."

Brittany sat up, pulling her stuffed elephant onto her lap and trying to understand why she wanted to cry. "I don't see how it's different."

"Because you're dating Artie."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, but you were. And I've slept with loads of guys, just like you have. This is just one little girl-kissing thing that we have. It doesn't make us lesbians."

"I…" Brittany pulled the elephant up to her chest and fell back to sit cross-legged. "I don't think it's little, Santana. You're the best part of my life." She shrugged, staring resolutely at the bedspread.

Santana's eyes widened. "Because we're friends," she choked out eventually. "You're my best friend."

"No. It's more than that. Santana, I think I love you. I care about you so much more than I cared about Artie – and I really, really loved him."

"Love doesn't put you under some kind of label."

Brittany's head snapped up and she blinked really fast to keep the tears in her eyes and off her cheeks. "Will you just listen, Santana? Yeah, I like guys. But I like you, too. I think girls are hot, I think guys are hot. Maybe I'm not a lesbian, but I'm pretty sure I'm bi. I don't care if that's a label because it's who I am. You need to figure that out. You need to think about if you like girls and if you love me. You have to know these things, Santana, because what if you are gay? Who would they make you marry? It's not… it's not little, okay?"

Santana pressed her lips together and nodded sharply. "Fine." She stood up, grabbing her bag from the floor and heading to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I have to think about whether I like girls or not and I can't do that when I'm around you."

"San—"

"I can't think straight when I'm near you, okay?" She glanced back and saw Brittany's frown and the tear tracks which had finally worked their way onto her cheeks. "It's not a bad thing," she said softly with a tiny smile. "I just need some time alone."

Brittany nodded and smiled back at her before Santana turned and left the room, breaking into a run as soon as the door was closed.

~o~

Santana hadn't spoken to her in days. Brittany had tried to link their pinkies together the morning after their sort-of fight, but Santana hadn't even looked at her as she drew her hand away and turned the corner. Brittany kept her pinkies to herself from then on. She sat next to Kurt in glee, trying to play with his hair a couple of times until he slapped her hand away, attempting to him smile just a little bit more, just a little bit wider. Some days she thought it was working.

"Are you still worried about getting married?" she asked one day, cross-legged on Kurt's bed while he sewed a patch onto a jacket for her.

"Not worried," Kurt said, a small frown appearing on his forehead as he shifted the jacket closer to his eyes. "Just accepting it. I had my interview last week." She tilted her head at him, waiting for more. "They use it to decide whether you're the husband or the wife."

"But you're a boy. You can only be a husband."

"Tell that to the government, Britt." He sighed. "I'm going to be the wife, you know."

"Because you sew?"

Kurt laughed a little. "Partially."

There was silence for a little while. Brittany shifted so she was lying on her front, chin resting on her crossed arms as she watched Kurt. "What happens if you like girls _and_ boys?"

"You have to marry someone of the opposite sex."

"So I wouldn't be allowed to marry Santana?"

Kurt paused at that, looking up at her with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I'd have to marry a guy." Kurt nodded. "Santana's a girl."

He set down the jacket, resting the needle on top of it, and climbed onto the bed beside her, lying on his back and tilting his head to look at her. "Do you want to marry Santana?"

"I love her. You marry the person you love, right?"

Kurt smiled, but Brittany had a feeling it wasn't real. "Yeah. That's right."

She brushed her fingers into his hair and for once he let her. "You can't, can you? That's why you're so sad."

He grabbed her wrist, stroking it, and when he spoke his voice was constricted. "No, I can't. When I was little, I thought I'd get married to someone I loved so much that I couldn't spend another minute _not_ being their husband. All I get is his name, Britt. That's not romantic at all."

She brushed his tears away. "I have someone I love and I can't have them."

Kurt shook his head and drew her down into a hug. "It isn't fair, not any of it."

"I think people should marry who they want to marry. I don't think someone's plumbing means you should love them any more or less. We should just marry who we love."

He kissed her forehead. "And that, boo, is why you should run the country."

~o~

"Santana, it's been two weeks." She got no reply as Santana continued to switch books from her locker. "You have to talk to me." She leaned closer, voice dropping to a hushed almost-whisper. "Kurt told me what happens when you're bi. I have to marry a boy, and you're not a boy, Tana."

"Who said you were marrying me?"

Brittany jumped back when Santana slammed her locker. She tried to speak, but Santana was already turning from her and stalking away.

Brittany spent the rest of the day watching the floor as she walked. She missed third period because she was too upset to get out of her seat after second period. She spent an hour in an empty classroom, mind going in circles and not getting anywhere. When she finally reached glee, she felt like Lord Tubbington when he'd taken too much of his medication after his motorcycle accident. Kurt caught sight of her and immediately grabbed her hand, pulling her down beside him and stroking her knuckles. She leaned into him, closing her eyes with her head on his shoulder and not listening to whatever Mr Schuester was saying. She didn't know whether Santana was there because she didn't look. She didn't open her eyes for the whole period and no-one said anything; Kurt just kept stroking her hand.

Sometimes, Brittany ached for sunnier days.

~o~

Brittany had never known there was an Irish dancing club in Lima, so when Rory first invited her she was convinced he'd used his leprechaun magic to make one spring out of the ground. He showed her the leaflet that said it had been open for almost thirty years, so she had to give up on that theory a little, but it was still a shock. True to the spirit, she was decked out in green from top to bottom, and she had cut out little shamrocks in felt and sewn them onto two headbands – one for her and one for Rory. He took it with a smile and linked their elbows together before leading them out onto the dance floor.

It had been a long time since Brittany had let herself dance the night away. So often, every movement reminded her of Santana and she would find herself dancing for the girl she loved until she stumbled from exhaustion, tears streaking her hot cheeks, chest heaving. After too many days of aching muscles, she had forced herself to stop. This kind of dancing wasn't the same; it was carefree, and Rory's eyes sparkled like the jar of glitter Brittany kept on her shelf as he showed her what to do. Soon, those around them were pausing to watch as they moved, and Brittany couldn't stop laughing.

Rory put his coat around her shoulders for the drive home and she snuggled into it, picking up the hat he'd removed in favour of her gift and perching it atop her own head. She tilted her head at him, making him laugh and reach over to take her hand. Brittany flipped hers over, linking their fingers together just to see what it was like. His hands were bigger than Santana's, fingers longer, though not by much, and a bit thicker. The fingernails weren't as smooth or as curved and his palm was warmer. Brittany kept her hand there, trying to figure what about this gesture felt wrong.

They pulled up outside their house and linked arms again as Rory led her up to the front door. The porch light flicked on and Brittany's hand tightened on Rory's arm when she saw a girl sitting on the steps. Santana looked up at them, eyes roving across their outfits and Rory's lingering grin. She was up and running down the path before Brittany even had time to greet her. She yelled Santana'sname after her, tried to chase her, but she was gone into the darkness.

Rory's hand slotted into hers again and Brittany let him guide her back into the house, head a riot of things she couldn't quite catch. It was all little grasps of thought and she was grappling with them so fiercely that she didn't realise they had paused outside her room until Rory's lips were on hers. She stood for a moment, shocked, then stayed completely still. She waited until he had pulled back, given her that small, secretive smile of his and slipped off to his own room before she moved.

When she climbed under her covers later, Lord Tubbington jumping up to curl against her side and knead at her with his claws, Brittany reached for her phone. She started a new text and lay there, stroking her fingers over the keypad and thinking. She slid her nail back and forth over the keys, listening to the soft click-click-click and watching the cat's ears prick up at the sound. He purred louder, kneading at her until she had to put her hand in the way because it was starting to hurt. He yawned, mouth stretching out wide to bare his teeth and his little pink tongue. She poked her finger inside the gap and watched him pull away, a startled look in his eyes, and she laughed. She picked up her phone again, tapped out her message and sent it before she could convince herself otherwise. She rolled onto her side, arm wrapping around Lord Tubbington's large back, nose nuzzling against the top of his head. She fell asleep thinking that today had felt more like a rainbow day than any in a long time.

_To: Santana_

_I dance every dance for you, whoever my partner is._

~o~

She had started dancing again. She was in the practice room, watching her body arch in the mirror as she leapt. She landed; body curling in on itself, head pulled into her chest and back heaving. Her breath felt heavy in her chest, her legs ached, her feet stung, her blood throbbed in her veins. It felt beautiful. The sweat clung to her skin, goosebumps rising in the cold studio air, silent save her panting breaths and the distant rattle of football studs on hallway floors.

She always danced from her heart. Each move had a moment, a memory; some came back time after time, some were new, some were never picked up again. Day after day, it was knitting together, a dance to the music of her heart, the beat reverberating through her bones.

"That was beautiful."

She dropped her forehead onto her knee, breath blowing cold across her skin. She inhaled, lifting herself up in one stretch of movement; back uncurling, weight rolling across the front of one foot to her toes, the other pressing hard into the floor. She slid her right foot, bringing it into parallel with the other, and stroked loose wisps of hair behind her ears. "It's for you."

She heard Santana step softly in from the doorway, crossing the room towards her but stopping a few feet away. "Thank you."

Brittany leaned over and pressed her hands to the floor, stretching out the backs of her legs while she waited. She was sitting on the floor, head pressed to her knee and fingers wrapped around one foot when she heard Santana shift again. She kept stretching, lengthening and soothing her aching muscles.

"You went out with Rory."

"He took me Irish dancing."

"Did you kiss him?"

Brittany lifted both arms above her head, leaning sideways and feeling the twinge down the side of her torso. "He kissed me."

"And you let him."

"What did you want me to do?"

She heard a huff and saw Santana turn away out of her peripheral vision. She sighed, dropping her arms and lifting herself to her feet to look at Santana at last. She had her back to Brittany, one arm wrapped around her stomach and head bowed. Brittany stepped closer, chest aching from something far more strenuous than dancing, and pressed a hand to her back. Santana tilted her head back, eyes closed, and took a sharp breath through her nose.

"You get to have that. You should take it, Britt. Take your freedom and be happy."

Brittany slipped her arms around Santana's waist, pulling her back against her and hooking her chin over Santana's shoulder. "I don't know how to be happy without you."

Hands pried her arms apart, pushing her gently to stumble back a step, into coldness. "I think you're going to have to learn to," Santana whispered, and she walked out of the dance studio, leaving Brittany to the mirrors and the never ending beat of her heart. She turned back to her reflection and began to dance.

~o~

Kurt and Santana were sitting at a table together at lunch. They had separated themselves from the rest of the group and were leaning close over their trays, both pairs of eyes sparking. Brittany rolled her tater tots around her plate as she watched them. Kurt had pushed a small stack of paper towards Santana a few minutes ago and they seemed to be battling over it. Kurt spread the papers wide, pointing at parts of them, reading them aloud, and Brittany wished more than ever that she could be a cat with amazing hearing and tell what they were saying. Santana looked ready to spit fire, so Brittany knew that Kurt was getting one up on her in some way. He was saying something Santana didn't know how to hear.

"Are you going to eat those?"

Brittany looked away from the pair quickly, eyes doe-wide. She shook her head, pushing the tots towards Mercedes and folding her hands in her lap. Sam nudged her and she glanced up. He was smiling sadly at her, holding out a six pack of lip smackers, all different colours.

"You haven't been yourself lately. I thought these might cheer you up? Soft lips always make me feel better."

Brittany looked down at the gift for a moment, then threw her arms around Sam's neck. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, "you're awesome." She took the packet from him, opening it immediately and picking the pink stick. She glossed her lips, then held it out to him. "Want some?"

He laughed and nodded, following her example, handing the stick back with his lips shining. He smacked his lips together, making her giggle. She glanced back over to the other table to find Santana glaring at Sam, nails digging into an apple. Santana stood up, leaving Kurt mid-sentence, and stalked out of the cafeteria. Brittany looked down at her bright lip smackers, feeling a little bit of the light they had brought fading away.

~o~

She had always thought her locker being next to Santana's was a good thing. It meant seeing each other all the time, sharing books and stationery, and just being in each other's space. These days – The Grey Days, she had come to hate it. She was ignored, or was standing alone for long minutes, waiting in vain hope for the locker beside her to be opened and rummaged through. She wanted to talk to her again, but Santana had been an open flame for days, glaring at anyone and everyone; she'd made Rachel cry twice in as many glee practices.

The times Santana couldn't avoid standing beside her were the hardest. Brittany would take as long as she could, hoping that if she stayed there Santana would just turn to her and start talking. It never happened.

She heard loud, familiar voices approaching, but kept her head buried in her locker, searching for her geometry book.

"I've tried to help you, Santana. I've told you everything you need to know, to make this work. Why can't you just try?"

The locker door next to Brittany's slammed open and she jumped, bag strap slipping through her fingers until she managed to catch it again.

"What exactly do you want me to do? This isn't like putting on a different one of your stupid outfits and feeling like you're a different person. There are things I have no control over."

Kurt whispered something to her which Brittany couldn't hear properly over the clamour of the hallway. She hooked her bag over her shoulders and shut her locker door. "Can you please not talk about me when I'm standing right here?" she said, looking at Santana's now rigid back. "I don't care how stupid I am, I'm not deaf."

"Funny," Santana snapped, slamming her locker shut. "I thought you must be, to put up with Big Mouth Billy's stupid impressions."

Brittany stamped her foot on the floor in frustration. "Why do you always assume things about me? Sometimes I think you don't know me at all. Sam is my friend. He's been nice to me. Maybe you would know that if you actually talked to me."

"He's nice to you because he wants to get into your pants."

"Not everything is about sex, Santana." She sniffed, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes.

"That's not what you thought when you tried to sleep with the whole student body."

Kurt pulled on Santana's arm. "You're going to be late to class." He pushed her away from them. Santana snarled at him, but he just glared in return. "Leave, Santana."

Brittany wiped the tears from her cheeks, sniffing again. She felt arms wrap around her and curled into them, letting the soft collar of Kurt's jacket cushion her burning cheeks. "She hates me."

"No, she loves you."

"You don't do this to the person you love. You're not mean to them."

She felt a pressure on the top of her head; Kurt pressing a kiss to her hair. "Santana's a bitch when she's scared. She's terrified, Britt."

"Why would she be scared of me?"

"Not of you," Kurt said, hugging her a little tighter. "Of losing you."

~o~

The day Brittany turned eighteen was not as momentous as she had expected. Her cat didn't have a present waiting for her when she woke up, but he'd been grumpy lately, so she had sort of expected that. Her family had thrown streamers over her at breakfast and she had laughed, ripping paper off gorgeous things with glee. Rory had made her a bowl of marshmallows again, and they dyed the milk multicoloured.

Everyone at school was lovely to her. She felt like a Birthday Princess; people kept giving her little presents, or pixie sticks, and she even got a harmonised rendition of Happy Birthday in glee. To other people, it was the perfect day. She came home to her house in the throes of being decorated, ready for the horde of teenagers who would descend on it for a party that night. Everything was beautiful, there were candles in the garden, and so many people turned up that Brittany stopped trying to count. It was everything a birthday should be.

Except that it wasn't.

Santana ignored her at their lockers. She didn't come to glee at all, she didn't give Brittany a present, she didn't even give her eye contact. Brittany was moving through her party, dancing with all of her friends and trying to be as happy as she should be, but she couldn't seem to forget what was missing. She wanted her best friend there to celebrate with her.

Brittany poured herself another drink and leaned against the kitchen cupboards. She closed her eyes and listened to everyone having a good time. She should be doing body shots by now, or dancing on her coffee table, or just laughing. She shouldn't be alone, clutching a drink to her chest and aching.

"Never thought I'd find you in the kitchen at a party."

Brittany dropped her head, keeping her eyes closed. "Why are you here?"

"It's your birthday," Santana said. She leaned against the cupboards beside her. "What sort of person doesn't come to their best friend's birthday party?"

Brittany took a sip of her drink, turning back to the counter. She grabbed a couple of bottles, taking one of the cups from the tower and pouring a mix into them. She handed it to Santana. They both took a gulp.

"You know my drink."

Brittany shrugged, staying silent.

Santana turned her body to face Brittany, mouth set. "Britt-Britt," she murmured.

Puck and Finn fell through the door, laughing loudly and slapping each other on the back. They barged towards the drinks counter, forcing Brittany and Santana to jump out of the way. They argued loudly over what drinks to try, arms flailing. Santana looked ready to slap them both around the back of the head. Brittany nodded her head towards the doorway, heading out into the living room with Santana following.

"Britt—"

"Dance with me," Brittany said, placing her hands on Santana's waist. "No talking. Just dance."

Santana hooked her arms around Brittany shoulders and they moved into the throng of dancers in the middle of the room. They were moving too slowly for the song, pressed together, a static in the chaos. Santana leaned her head against Brittany's shoulder, swaying with her.

After the third song, she spoke up, quietly into Brittany's ear. "Do you think you could pretend?"

"You mean like in the musical?"

"Kind of." She slid her hand up Brittany's neck, into her hair, holding her head close to her. "Would you pretend something for me? Something important."

"I'd do anything for you," Brittany whispered back without having to think about it.

"If I asked you to say that you just like girls, would you do it?"

Brittany kept them swaying and twirling, barely noticing another song coming to an end and melding into the next. "You want me to be someone I'm not." Santana started to pull away, but Brittany tugged her back. "Why, Tana? Tell me why."

"Because I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not your choice." Santana's voice was breaking and Brittany held her tighter.

"For you. I'll pretend for you."

Santana took her hand, pulling her away from the party, away up the stairs and into Brittany's bedroom. She paused only for a second, staring at her with shining eyes, then cupped her face between her hands and kissed her, cradling her like a baby bird. She grabbed Brittany's hands, pressing their foreheads together, breathing hard. "Kurt showed me the laws, Britt. There's one for established couples. We just have to prove that we love each other, that's all. We won't even have to pretend."

Brittany smiled, nudging their noses together. "Did you just say you love me?"

Santana laughed, clutching at her and pressing little kisses to her mouth again and again. "I love you. I want to _marry_ you."

Brittany drew her towards the bed, pressing her lips across her jaw, up the smooth skin of her cheek. As they lay back together, Brittany felt everything slotting back into place; rainbows and sunshine and Santana were all she could see.

~o~

She woke to bright sunlight and the whisper of long hair across her chest. The arch of a foot slid up her calf under the sheets. She smiled, pressing her nose into Santana's hair and wrapping a hand around her shoulder. She could hear Santana's breaths, still heavy with sleep. She lay there long enough to be properly awake, and she was just wondering what had happened to all of her guests when Lord Tubbington jumped onto the bed. He looked at Santana, then padded over and settled right next to Brittany's side, his tail flicking across the bare skin of Santana's arm. She stirred as the fur tickled across her inner elbow.

She lifted her head, taking in Lord Tubbington's self-satisfied expression, then rested her chin on Brittany's shoulder. "I hate your cat."

"Ssh," Brittany hissed. "He can hear you!"

"He was meant to." She shifted, one leg tangling further with Brittany's. "I'm only joking." She stroked the cat's head. "Right, furball?" The cat lifted his head into her petting, eyes closed. For a few minutes, everything was silent but for the cat's purrs. "I'm sorry."

"He doesn't mind, Santana. He knows you didn't mean it."

"No – not that. I'm sorry for how I treated you."

"You were scared."

"I was a bitch."

"I forgive you."

Santana drew her hand back from where she had been scratching the cat's chin, pushing on the bed to roll onto her back. "You shouldn't, not so easily."

"But I love you," Brittany said, turning onto her side towards her. She jostled the cat and he stopped purring at once, flexing his claws into her butt through the sheets in retaliation. She ignored him.

"That doesn't mean I'm any good for you."

Brittany took Santana's chin in her hand, drawing it towards her. "I think that you're perfect for me. Isn't my opinion the most important one?"

Santana slipped her own hand over Brittany's. "I was so stupid."

Brittany tipped her head, bumping the tips of their noses together. "Stop it." She stroked her thumb across Santana's chin. "Tell me what we have to do."

Santana closed her eyes at Brittany's touch, remarkably like the cat purring on Brittany's other side. "First we have to put ourselves on the register. It's like this big gay list, keeping track of all the homosexuals. We go to the town hall and sign ourselves into it."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah." Santana tipped her head back, sighing. "You can still put yourself down as bi."

"What would happen if I did?"

"They'd watch you. If you're not married by twenty-one, they put you up to be paired off with someone of the opposite gender."

"But who are you put with?"

"Other bi people. There are some weirdos who sign themselves up to 'take on troubled souls.'" Brittany wrinkled her nose at that. "You're still risking being married off to someone you don't know."

Brittany closed her eyes as well, listening to the scuffing of sheets and sounds of breath. "I don't want to risk that. I want you." Their fingers tangled together, resting against Santana's neck. "After that, after we're signed up, what do we do?"

"Sign up for an established couple interview."

"That's it?"

"We have to get through the interview, but yes."

"And after that… we're free to be us?"

Santana sighed, breath fluttering across Brittany's cheeks. "Within limits."

Brittany flopped onto her back with a frustrated whine. Lord Tubbington jumped off the bed, stalking out of the room. "I'm sick of all these rules all the time. I don't get what's so wrong with _loving_ someone."

"It's not the loving," Santana sighed, leaning up on her elbow and stroking Brittany's hair. "It's the someone."

~o~

The man behind the desk gave them a dirty look when they declared their business. He pointed them towards another corridor, which they took to with linked pinkies. Santana rolled her eyes and the distinctly grottier décor of this department. There was another desk, a girl this time, feet propped on the fake wood surface as she painted her toenails. They stood in front of her for a minute, watching her paint and hum along to the music playing on her radio. Eventually, Santana rolled her eyes and slammed her hand on the desk.

"Hey, white trash, you going to serve us or not?"

The girl jumped, the brush of her polish slipping across her toe and leaving a streak on her skin. She glared up at Santana as she ripped a tissue out of a box on her desk and started to scrub at her toe. "I'm so sorry, miss," she simpered, dropping the tissue into a bin under her desk but not putting her feet down, "I didn't see you there. How can I help you?"

"Don't play cute, you know exactly what we're here for."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, miss."

Santana almost growled. Brittany tugged on her hand, trying to pull her back, but it was hopeless. "We've come to put ourselves on your dyke list. We're positively wet with excitement at signing ourselves into government slavery. In fact—"

"You'd like to put yourselves on the roster," the girl shouted over her.

"Please," Brittany said, giving her a smile. The girl just rolled her eyes, finally pulling her feet down and starting to tap at her computer.

"Name," she ordered, not looking at them but pointing at Santana.

"Santana Lopez."

"All the way or half?"

"What?"

"Lesbian or bi?" the girl explained, tapping in Santana's name.

"Lesbian."

The girl nodded, clicked, then looked up at Brittany.

"Wait," Santana said, "don't you need anything else?"

"The database has everyone in the district on it, sweet-cheeks. Give it your name and it does the math."

Brittany tried to ignore the chill that was settling over her at the whole idea. "Brittany S. Pierce," she murmured.

"Very funny, darling. What's your real name?"

"I…" Brittany looked at Santana. "What does she mean?"

"I don't care how blonde you are, you're not Britney."

Santana snorted and reached over, grabbing a pen and Post It from the desk, making the girl jump. She wrote out Brittany's name and shoved it in the girl's face. "Learn to listen better, _sweet-cheeks_."

The girl took the Post It, blushing just slightly. She tapped at her keyboard, scrolled, clicked. "Half or full?"

Brittany glanced at Santana, catching her before she managed to look away. She saw the flash of doubt before Santana was staring resolutely at the wall. "Full," she replied, reaching out to take Santana's hand.

"Let me guess: desperately in love, wanting an established couple consultation."

"What's the earliest we can have?" Brittany asked, cutting Santana off from whatever comment she had been about to make.

"Do we look busy?" The girl picked up her phone, pressed nine, and held it to her ear, putting her feet on the desk again. "Jill? Got a couple of girls out here, want to spend the rest of their lives together… I'll send them in." She dropped the phone again. "First door on the left. There's hand sanitizer outside."

Brittany grabbed Santana around the waist and dragged her away, stopping her from doing something she regretted. Still, growls of Spanish ripped their way out and shot back at the girl at the desk, who was painting her nails again, ignoring them completely.

The first door on the left had a shiny gold sign set on it that seemed wholly out of place in the dank department. Brittany knocked on the wood beside Jillian Hoodringer's name, rubbing Santana's back. A voice called out for them to enter and Brittany led them in, hand still guiding Santana, soothing her. Once inside, Santana seemed to come have calmed down. Brittany nudged her and she held her free hand out to the woman behind the desk, who was large, with square glasses and an unimpressed expression.

"Santana Lopez," she said as they shook hands.

"Brittany Pierce," she said as she followed suit.

"Sit down," Jill said, waving at the two chairs in front of her desk. "So you want to get married." They both nodded. "How old are you?"

"I turned eighteen yesterday," Brittany said.

"Seventeen. Eighteen in July."

"And you've been together how long?" Jill asked, already tapping at her computer.

They looked at each other. They couldn't exactly say one day. Santana thought back, lips tilting up at the memory of the first time Brittany had kissed her. She'd wanted to try it, because Santana was pretty and she hadn't kissed a girl before. It was innocent and fun, and it had stayed that way for a long time. Just kissing because it felt good.

"Three years," Santana replied, eyes locked on Brittany's.

"You didn't put yourselves on the roster until now?"

"We were getting things figured out," Brittany said, shifting in her seat. She reached out and took Santana's hand.

"You'll have to wait until that one's eighteen," Jill said, pointing at Santana and typing some more. "And there's a bit of paperwork for you," she said. The printer started to whir at that moment. "No forms, no marriage."

"Wait, that's it?" Santana asked, sitting up in her seat. "I thought this was an interview to test our devotion to each other."

"We ain't in New York, honey," Jill said with a laugh. "You're stupid enough to sign yourselves up for lifelong commitment, who am I to say that's not devotion? I don't give a fuck whether you're in love or not. Take these," she said, taking the pages from the printer. She looked between the two of them, as if she were seeing them properly for the first time since they walked in the room. "Oh."

"Is there a problem?" Brittany asked.

"Either of you feel like cutting your hair?" They looked at each other, eyes wide, then turned back to her. "I need a husband and a wife. You're both wives. Jesus, this is why we match people."

Brittany leaned into Santana with a look of shock on her face. "Does cutting your hair turn you into a boy? Is that what happened to that Samsung guy?"

Santana smiled in spite of herself. "No, Britt. What's the difference?" she asked Jill.

"For lesbians? Mainly children related. I guess it depends which surname you want more." She looked between them once more. "Let me just call Brianna."

"Who?" Santana asked, but she was ignored. Their question was answered by the distant ring of the receptionist's desk and the abrasive voice ringing down the hallway.

Brittany tuned out of the conversation, instead looking at Santana, stroking her hand and trying to think what she'd look like bald.

"You," Jill said. Brittany jumped a little, not realising the phone call had ended. Jill was holding the forms out to Santana. "Husband."

"What did your little minion say to give you that idea?" Santana snarled, taking the forms and tucking them into her bag.

"I think we're done here," Jill said. "Forms by next week at the latest. Come back when you want to book the wedding."

"I'll send you an invitation," Santana said in her bitchiest tone. She grabbed Brittany's hand and pulled her out of the room, away from the drab government corridor and out of the town hall. They stopped on the sun-streaked pavement, Santana breathing hard and leaning her head back into the light. Brittany waited for something to break, for some earth shattering moment, but none came. She tugged on Santana's hand.

"Come on. Come home and help me kick everyone out. I think Finn was asleep in my fridge."

~o~

Brittany pulled at a curl of hair, trying to make it stay in place. Another hand took hold of her wrist, holding her back and doing the task for her. She smiled at her mother's reflection in the mirror as she pinned the curl. Mrs Pierce rested her hands on her daughter's shoulders, squeezing them. "You look beautiful, baby girl."

Brittany tilted her head back to look at her, into those eyes which were just as blue as her own, bright with tears. "Thank you." It wasn't just for the clip; her mother knew that.

"You ready?"

Brittany nodded. She took one last look at herself, then stood up, leaning on her mother's hand. Her sister stepped up to her, holding a stretch of gauzy fabric in her hands. Brittany's mother took it, setting it atop her oldest daughter's head, bringing the veil down across her face. Brittany blinked out at her, feeling all the little butterflies that lived in her stomach wake up and start to stretch their wings, tumbling into a dance.

New Directions sang her down the aisle, grinning at her from the front of the room. She didn't watch them for even a moment. She didn't look at the family on her side, the empty seats on the other. She didn't look at her feet, or her father on her arm, or Kurt's new husband, or any of it. She watched Santana, smiled at how beautiful she looked in her white gown – different to Brittany's, defiance sewn into its fabric.

Brittany reached her in what felt like a haze. She took her hands, holding onto her and leaning on her. Santana smiled at her, not trying to hide the tears in her eyes, and the sight made Brittany fall in love all over again.

"Scared?" she whispered.

"Of you?" Santana asked. She shook her head. "Never."

Brittany grinned, and from then on their eyes never left each other's. She didn't hear a word the man beside them said; she only knew what was happening when she saw Santana's lips shape around _I do_.

They danced for hours that night. The songs changed over and over, but they didn't pull away. "One day," Santana murmured into her ear, "you'll show me that dance. When it's finished."

Brittany kissed her, sweetly, with the promise of years. "I think I just thought of how to end it." She pulled her wife closer and kissed her again, spinning her around the dance floor until they were laughing and clutching at each other.

Brittany knew that grey days would come, just as they did for everyone; but she had Santana, she had love and she had friends, and they would making even the greyest days just a little bit brighter.


End file.
